


Words Are The Physicians Of A Mind Diseased

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-07
Updated: 2007-12-07
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Talking versus silence while time for Trip and Malcolm is trickling out, perhaps for good.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Grateful thanks to my beta reader RoaringMice  


* * *

Â§ 1 Â§

â€œWhat dâ€™ya miss?â€ Trip cast a glance across the decon chamber to the bench on the other side, and the man stretched out on it. 

His mouth had caught up with his wandering mind and blurted the question out without grounding it into a context. But Malcolm and he had been in silence, each laying flat on a bench, for a long time â€“ too long for this ebullient Southerner. His thoughts had found an outlet in that vague rambling.

â€œFrom Earth,â€ Trip now clarified to the owner of the puzzled grey eyes which had turned to him. â€œIs there anythinâ€™ you really miss from Earth?â€

â€œWhy?â€ Malcolm asked quietly, returning his gaze to the ceiling; then - whether aware or not of how telling the gesture was - hiding his face behind a bent arm.

Trip rolled his eyes. â€œWhy what? Why am I askinâ€™ ya, or why do I think there might be somethinâ€™ you miss?â€

The dismissing huff that floated his way was already a partial reply. It was followed by a single word, the punch of which was like the slamming of a door â€“ shutting you out, of course. 

â€œBoth.â€

Trip could not believe Malcolm could be so detached, so unemotional about what he had left behind; that there would be no person, no place which made his heart clench with wistfulness when he thought of them. But of course it was much more likely that the man simply didnâ€™t want to share. He shot another glance to his friend, but the arm was still in place, and the glance was lost on him. Well, Trip wasnâ€™t going to be discouraged so easily. 

â€œCome on, Malcolm, thereâ€™s got to be somethinâ€™ you miss!â€

Disbelief and frustration sent his voice up, along with shooting a wonderful spike of pain through his skull. He hissed and grimaced, which earned him another glance from the aloof man across. It contained a hint of concern â€“ well, they were in the same boat, literally and metaphorically: whatever happened to one would, presumably, also happen to the other.

Damned alien planets with their alien microbes! And things always seemed to happen to them. No wonder the crew called them the Disaster Twins. No one else had picked up anything more than a cold bug in months. Malcolm and he, on the other hand, had spent two hours on a planet and now risked spending God knew how much time in quarantine. Their balance was all but gone and if the shiver that had just travelled down his spine was anything to go by, they were also about to develop a temperature.

â€œAre you all right?â€ Malcolm asked, grey eyes now boring into him.

Trip felt an incongruous desire to giggle, but curbed it; it might trigger not only another stab of pain, but also a few suspicions about his sanity. He settled for drawling out sarcastically, â€œYaâ€™ve gotta be kiddinâ€™. I canâ€™t keep myself upright; Iâ€™ve got the shivers; and if I speak too loud my head hurts. Howâ€™s that for beinâ€™ alright?â€

â€œNot bad,â€ Malcolm replied in a dark voice. 

Gingerly, Trip rolled on his side and studied his friend. It was always difficult to understand what the man felt, what went on in that complicated mind of his. But all the more so when something was troubling him, or when he was not well; thatâ€™s when Lieutenant Reed would divert all energy to his personal shields, so that his weakened core would be well-hidden and protected. Time to send a photon torpedo to try and pierce them.

â€œHow about you, what are your symptoms?â€ he asked directly.

â€œTrip, whatâ€™s wrong with a bit of silence?â€ Malcolm immediately non-answered, snappily, eyes back on the ceiling. â€œA moment ago the thought actually crossed my mind that you had begun to appreciate it. A false hope, it turns out.â€

â€œYeah, absolutely. I donâ€™t like silence; never have. Weâ€™ll have plenty of it in the grave.â€ 

Malcolm shot him another, slightly more concerned look. â€œI trust Phlox will find a way to put us back on our feet.â€ 

Trip could hear a hint of doubt lurk behind the dryness of his explosive consonants. â€œCome on, ya know I didnâ€™t mean that,â€ he said deadpan. 

Undeterred, Malcolm muttered, â€œIn any case, unlike you, I happen to like silence. So if you donâ€™t mindâ€¦â€

So silence it was, once again. To please Lieutenant Reed.

The boring lack of interaction lasted, in fact, only a few minutes. It was Phlox who came to the rescue; but Tripâ€™s budding relief turned sour when he saw the frown on the Doctorâ€™s usually jolly face, on the other side of the access hatchâ€™s glass.

â€œCommander, Lieutenant. Iâ€™ll need another blood sample, if you please.â€ Phlox said in his professional voice. He placed two hypo syringes in the pass-through and slid it closed.

Trip exchanged a glance with Malcolm. This must be â€“ what â€“ the fifth blood sample they had been asked to give. â€œWhatâ€™s the problem, Doc?â€ he enquired, failing to produce the light tone he had aimed at. â€œAny more samples and we wonâ€™t have to worry about this bug any more, weâ€™ll be bled dry.â€

A pale and mirthless smile appeared on the Denobulanâ€™s face. â€œCommander, kindly get the syringes and do as I ask.â€

Trip gingerly pushed to a sitting position, knowing the room would start to spin. â€œIsnâ€™t there anythinâ€™ you can give us to restore our balance?â€ he very nearly whined, putting two fingers over his eyes and anchoring himself to the wall with his other hand.

â€œIâ€™m working on it, Commander,â€ Phlox replied in what sounded like a slightly over-protective tone. 

Not good. 

With a deep breath, Trip slowly pushed to his feet. Then, holding on to anything that would help him keep upright, he shuffled to retrieve the syringes. He almost startled when Malcolm appeared beside him, staggering too. Damn, the man could be stealthy even when barely able to stand. But he was grateful for his effort. He wasnâ€™t sure he wanted to walk the distance between their benches and the access hatch more times than strictly necessary.

When they were done, Phlox gave them both a long, covertly assessing look. â€œI will get back to you as soon as Tâ€™Pol and I manage to make some leeway contrasting this virus,â€ he said rather vaguely. â€œIn the meantime, try to rest.â€

Trip grimaced. â€œThat all? Arentâ€™ya gonna tell us if weâ€™ll live?â€

It was some kind of a joke â€“ or so he told himself; in any case, something meant to trigger one of Phloxâ€™s obnoxious smiles and an â€˜Of course youâ€™ll live, Commander!â€™ But the Doctorâ€™s face, instead, remained straight as he said, â€œThis virus is very aggressive; potentially lethal. We havenâ€™t found a way to counter it or slow it down yet.â€ Probably seeing the dismay that Trip knew had appeared on his face, he added, â€œThere are some things we can still try, and we wonâ€™t give up, rest assured.â€

With a slight nod, Phlox left, leaving them in a much heavier silence than the one heâ€™d found them in.

Â§ 2 Â§

â€œBrilliant,â€ Malcolm muttered after a long moment. His face was pale and taut. He staggered back to his bench and dropped down on it wincing slightly.

Trip watched him settle down, before making his own careful way to his place.

It was only a few minutes since they had been lying exactly like this, across from each other; yet it seemed like a whole lot of time had passed, or that they were not the same persons as before. Before they had been just sick; now they were dangerously perched on top of the abyss, aware of its shuddering presence and that they might have to take the big jump into it. 

Trip felt strangely numb, almost unable to wrap his mind around the idea that in a matter of minutes such heavy clouds could have gathered on the horizon of his life; and that in a matter of hours he may be... 

Dammit! To hell with Malcolmâ€™s likes and dislikes: he had no intention of spending what might be his last hours in grim silence, of feeling dead before time. 

â€œI miss the sounds,â€ he said resolutely, in fact almost challengingly. He cast a wary glance to the other side. Malcolmâ€™s eyes were closed. When no response came, he went on, â€œOn Enterprise there is the hum of the warp engine, which is so constant that ya almost donâ€™t hear it any more â€“ except maybe when something is wrong with it; but on Earthâ€¦ Iâ€™m not only talkinâ€™ about birds chirpinâ€™, or the sound of the sea anâ€™ all that.â€ He paused for a beat. â€œI dunno, a door banging in the wind, or the noise of traffic, orâ€¦ a baby cryinâ€™. Whatever. There are so many different sounds, on Earth, which we donâ€™t have here. You get to miss them after a while.â€ He bit his lip and dared, â€œI guess you donâ€™t, if youâ€™re so fond of silence.â€

â€œOne does not necessarily exclude the other,â€ Malcolm replied quietly. 

There was no irritation in his voice; Phloxâ€™s news â€“ it seemed â€“ had made a difference. There were bigger worries now than shutting him up. Quite unexpectedly, though, Malcolm went on, offering a few thoughts of his own.

â€œSilence can be precious,â€ he said, blinking his eyes open, though they remained fixed on the ceiling. â€œI doubt many of the great discoveries, great works of literature, or great flashes of inspiration would have been accomplished in noise. But Iâ€™ll grant you that there is nothing like a sound to re-create a memory, bring one back to a spot or time. Thus I can well believe that you could miss Earthâ€™s sounds.â€

â€œBut do you miss anythinâ€™?â€ Trip insisted, encouraged by this unexpected spurt of loquaciousness. He had a sudden urge to lay bare his friendâ€™s well-hidden feelings; rip the layers of protective reticence open and expose the throbbing heart he knew heâ€™d find underneath. Hell, if these turned out to be their last hours, he wanted to spend them sharing something meaningful. 

The pause lasted long enough for Trip to hold his breath. But the words that followed allowed him to release it.

â€œIf you really must know, I miss the clap of thunder and a good downpour,â€ Malcolm admitted, darting him a cautious look. â€œEver since I was a child Iâ€™ve been fascinated by storms, found them awe-inspiring,â€ he expounded. â€œAll that energy, the unleashing of natureâ€™s force... Itâ€™s a wonderful, if terrifying sight. One that has always given me that shot of fright and exhilaration that I hate and love at the same time. I suppose itâ€™s the same feeling I get in situations of danger.â€

That was interesting. Worryingly revealing, in fact. â€œYou actually like being in dangerous situations?â€ Trip asked, intrigued and troubled at the idea.

There was a pause.

â€œNot quite,â€ Malcolm unhurriedly replied. â€œAlthough I wonâ€™t deny that danger holds a measure of excitement that is irrefutably attractive. Like a void: if you look long enough into it, against all reason you almost feel like taking the plunge.â€

â€œIs that why you chose your profession? To get that shot of adrenaline?â€ 

Malcolm let out a soft huff. â€œCould be,â€ he murmured. â€œOne of the reasons. Certainly not the main one.â€

Trip shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position â€“ an impossible feat. The benches in decon were even harder than the bio beds. He wondered whether Malcolmâ€™s butt was totally insensitive; the man was so damn still. â€œYou know, I think the database might contain the recording of a thunderstorm,â€ he said. â€œCome to think of it, it might contain the recording of quite a few other sounds.â€

Malcolm let out another, this time dismissive, huff. â€œIt wouldnâ€™t be the same thing as being there, standing face up under the pouring water, with your dripping clothes clinging to you, feeling the wind threatening to sweep you away, seeing the lightning split the sky, waiting for the clap of thunder that follows, wondering if the next burst of energy will not incinerate you.â€

It was a good thing the man had his gaze on the ceiling, for if Trip, as a Floridian, had initially enjoyed the recollection of something he knew very well, his eyes had grown wider with every word and he was now looking at Malcolm as he would a lunatic. â€œYouâ€™re not tellinâ€™ me that thatâ€™s what you normally do, in a thunderstorm, are ya?â€ he finally asked, uneasily.

There was an awkward pause. â€œI have on occasion, during a summer storm,â€ Malcolm admitted quietly. Probably realising how that sounded, to justify himself he added, â€œItâ€™s a great feeling. Like when you wake up at night with a storm raging outside, rattling the windows, pelting the roof with a rhythmic hail.â€ 

He shivered visibly and hugged his shoulders, and Trip knew it wasnâ€™t because of the memory of standing dripping wet in a storm. â€œYou ok?â€ he asked, already knowing the answer. But this time it wasnâ€™t the standard Lieutenant Reed reply.

â€œI believe Iâ€™m developing a fever.â€ 

Finally summoning the energy to do so, Trip pulled to a sitting position, scrunching his eyes closed for a moment before reaching to the foot of the bench and grabbing a couple of blankets from the pile that was there. He silently tossed one across to the other bench, and spread the second open as he lay back down. He had been getting a few shivers too.

â€œEvery time Iâ€™ve been caught in a storm itâ€™s scared the hell out of me,â€ he drawled, pulling his blanket close around his shoulders. â€œOnce I was out campinâ€™ with friends, and we had pitched our tents near a river that swelled dangerously. Not an experience Iâ€™d care to repeat.â€

â€œNature at its worst can make you feel very small. But thatâ€™s part of the beauty of it.â€ 

Turning on his side, Malcolm burrowed into his own blanket, looking ready and willing to fall back into his beloved silence; so Trip racked his brain for another thread of conversation; anything to keep their voices filling the oppressing room, anything to keep at bay the disturbing thoughts his mind threatened to conjure up. 

â€œWhat was the worst thing you had to do in your life?â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s grey eyes narrowed under the slight frown that creased his brow. â€œWhat do you mean?â€ he enquired with a long-suffering sigh.

â€œSomethinâ€™ you really hated but you had to do.â€

A soft but mirthless laugh floated his way. â€œThatâ€™s a difficult question to answer. Iâ€™ve had to do many things that I really didnâ€™t like.â€

The hard core of bitterness was all too apparent, re-awakening Tripâ€™s curiosity about his friendâ€™s past, that well-protected past before the moment Archer had chosen Malcolm to be Enterpriseâ€™s Armoury and Security Officer. Trip didnâ€™t quite think the man hadnâ€™t known any happiness; but had a feeling that happiness in Malcolmâ€™s early existence had been kind of like a very special cake, prepared on rare occasions and to be enjoyed in small portions. One thing he felt sure of was that on this ship Malcolm had found more happiness than he had on Earth.

â€œBut actually they all boiled down to the same bloody thing,â€ Malcolm went on dryly. â€œHaving to pretend to be what I was not; having to step into clothes that didnâ€™t quite fit me. When you do it long enough, without knowing you end up growing into the model youâ€™re given to conform to, and then you start wondering who you really are, if something of your true self hasnâ€™t died in the process, and that isâ€¦â€ Meeting Tripâ€™s perplexed eyes, he faltered and tightened his lips before lowering his gaze.

Trip looked for something defusing to say, one of his carefree comments that could set a lighter mood, but his mind was a giddy void. How could anything with Malcolm go so deep? The worst things he himself could think of, which he had truly hated, were biology class in school or having to keep his quarters in perfect order during Starfleet Academy. Those suddenly sounded horribly insignificant, almost insulting in comparison to Malcolmâ€™s philosophical ramblings. He dearly hoped his friend wouldnâ€™t feel he had to reciprocate the question. 

But instead the man darted him yet another glance, this one unreadable, and murmured flatly, and with the slightest hint of annoyance, â€œIâ€™m sorry. Must be this virus. Itâ€™s making me rather too chatty.â€ He pulled his blanket up over his chin, hiding under it.

â€œUh, no, itâ€™s ok,â€ Trip stammered. â€œI like talkingâ€¦ Well, you know, I donâ€™t like silenceâ€¦â€ 

â€œRight...â€

The awkward moment seemed never to end. Then Phlox appeared behind the glass again. Archer was beside him, and Trip knew immediately the news wasnâ€™t good. He pushed to a sitting position; out of the corner of the eye he saw Malcolm do the same.

A channel was opened. 

â€œTrip, Malcolm...â€ Archer began.

â€œLetâ€™s hear it, Captâ€™n,â€ Trip interrupted him, concern taking over. Immediately regretting his gruffness, he added more gently, â€œHowever bad it is, I think weâ€™d rather you didnâ€™t beat around the bush.â€ A glance at Malcolm confirmed that assumption, for the man was nodding quietly.

Phlox pulled his face into a taut smirk. â€œWe are running out of time,â€ he said without preamble. â€œThis virus is even more aggressive than it seemed, and we canâ€™t wait very much longer.â€ His face darkened. â€œI have figured out a way to kill it; but the cure could end up being rather... hard on the patient as well. Still, at the moment itâ€™s our best chance. I want to inject one of you with it, and if it works I can develop a less risky vaccine for the other one.â€ 

That sounded pretty desperate. No to mention dangerous. Trip opened his mouth to speak, but Malcolm anticipated him.

â€œHow hard?â€

Even before Phloxâ€™s reply the answer was written all over Archerâ€™s face.

â€œThere is a fifty percent chance the treatment could be fatal,â€ the Doctor said bluntly. â€œBut if we wait, you will both be doomed. While we try the treatment on one of you and wait for the verdict, Tâ€™Pol and I will keep working on other possibilities. If the cure works, it will save both your lives; if it doesnâ€™t, one of you will still have a chance that we come up with some other option.â€

â€œYouâ€™ll try it on me,â€ Malcolm said without the blinking of a hesitation. 

â€œJust hold on,â€ Trip croaked out, finding his voice again. â€œYou canâ€™t make this kind of decision, Lieutenant: I outrank you.â€ He turned to Phlox. â€œYouâ€™ll try it on me, Doc.â€

In Malcolmâ€™s pale face, shiny with perspiration, the grey eyes became mere slits. â€œI am more expendable than you are, Commander,â€ he challenged doggedly. â€œAnd besides, Iâ€™m security.â€

â€œSecurity doesnâ€™t include actinâ€™ as a human guinea pig.â€

â€œIt does if it means trying to keep other people safe.â€

â€œCaptâ€™n...â€ Trip turned in frustration to the access hatch. Not that he was particularly eager to inject himself with a possibly fatal med, but Malcolmâ€™s impatience to play hero rubbed him the wrong way, for some reason. Absurdly enough, Malcolm had looked more worried when they were still uncertain of their fate than now that the Doctor had clearly spelled out their possible demise and made his virtually lethal proposition. Maybe Malcolm really got a kick out of risking his life. Trip realised that it was that thought which bothered him. Certainly the man seemed to enjoy donning the cloak of fearless warrior and jumping into action. 

â€œGod knows I wouldnâ€™t wish this on either of you,â€ Archer said raucously. He turned to Phlox. â€œIâ€™m afraid this is a decision best made by a Doctor.â€

Phlox pursed his lips for a brief moment. â€œMr. Reed,â€ he then said quietly, â€œthe shots youâ€™ve been taking for some of your allergies actually make you the better choice. There is a chance they may act as an inhibitor of the treatmentâ€™s bad effects without impairing its efficacy.â€

Malcolmâ€™s mouth tightened as he nodded a slow but almost satisfied assent. â€œTell me what I have to do,â€ he said.

â€œVery little.â€ 

Now that things had been decided, it was as if a film in slow motion had finally got up to speed. Trip watched Phlox show Malcolm a hypospray and place it in the pass-through. The Doctorâ€™s movements all of a sudden were fast and energetic, and he was talking in a tone that held quite a bit of urgency. Tripâ€™s mind, which had already been fuzzy, zoned out almost altogether, distracted by thoughts he could no longer keep at bay. He caught only words here and there - some of them, like â€˜high feverâ€™, â€˜nauseaâ€™ and â€˜hallucinationsâ€™, not very reassuring. 

And then Malcolm was in his line of sight, stumbling forward. He opened the drawer, picked up the hypospray and looked at it for one long moment.

â€œDamn it, Malcolmâ€¦â€ It was all that Trip could think of saying. He watched his friend slowly turn around, raise the hypospray to his neck and, deep grey eyes locked on his, release either a cure or death into his bloodstream.

â€œWish me â€“ us â€“ luck, Commander,â€ he murmured.

â€œLie down, Lieutenant,â€ Phlox said with gentle concern. â€œIâ€™ll be monitoring you both from sickbay.â€

Archerâ€™s green eyes were almost pained. Trip read in them the desire to say something reassuring, and the dismay caused by the fact that nothing could be found. â€œI will be back a little later,â€ the Captain finally said, grimacing probably at the futility of the words. 

While Tripâ€™s tongue was stuck to his palate, Malcolm, ever his proper self, croaked out, â€œThank you, Sir.â€ Then he made his wobbly way back to his bench.

Â§ 3 Â§

The silence that fell after Phlox and Archer had left was outright oppressive. It weighed on Trip like a press, heavier with every turn of the clockâ€™s minute hand. It wasnâ€™t long at all before he felt he would go insane. He took a couple of deep breaths to control a sudden nonsensical desire to thrash about and scream, and immediately a bout of nausea assailed him. Pursing his lips, he grunted and wrapped his arms around his midsection.

â€œTrip?â€

â€œFine,â€ Trip muttered through clenched teeth. â€œJust a bit nauseous.â€ 

There was no reply. When he thought he could do so without gagging, Trip turned onto his side. â€œSo you get to play your favourite role,â€ he spat out, managing a stinging sarcasm laced with resentment. â€œHero.â€

Malcolm cast him a puzzled look. â€œThatâ€™s what you get for having allergies, it seems,â€ he commented warily, without picking up the gauntlet. 

Trip gave himself a mental kick. He ought to be grateful, damn it. But there was that snaking and irrational feeling ofâ€¦ what the hell was it, anyway? He felt sort of provoked, or belittled, or amiss, or cowardly, or a bit of all of those. â€œSorry,â€ he said tightly. â€œDonâ€™t mind me. Iâ€™mâ€¦â€ 

â€œForget it,â€ Malcolm quietly cut him off. 

He seemed so calm, almost serene. The exact opposite of what Trip felt. If it werenâ€™t for the fact that heâ€™d no doubt be banging into walls while probably throwing up, he would have considered pacing the small room with long and furious strides. How could Malcolm be laying there, eyes on the ceiling, as if nothing much were happening? As if he werenâ€™t waiting to know whether heâ€™d see the next shift? 

â€œI donâ€™t want to die,â€ Trip blurted out tautly. He didnâ€™t care if he sounded scared. He was.

Malcolm cast him another glance. This one was longer and more intense. â€œYou probably wonâ€™t.â€ 

The words werenâ€™t charged with any special meaning; just plain acknowledgement that Trip stood a better chance to survive. Malcolmâ€™s face was slightly flushed now, and at the sight Tripâ€™s heart jumped into his throat. Its pounding made it difficult to speak, but he choked out angrily, â€œI donâ€™t want you to die either. I donâ€™t want either of us to die. We are too young, itâ€™s not fair. There is still so much we can doâ€¦â€

â€œBut there isnâ€™t much we can do about this,â€ Malcolm said in a voice deep enough to cover any despair that might have been there. â€œJust hope for the best.â€

Sounds were getting distorted because of his nausea; or perhaps it was the other way round. Trip passed a hand over his brow and was surprised to find it wet with perspiration, and quite hot. His temperature had risen considerably, it seemed. There was a bitter taste in his mouth; he wanted to wash it out with a sip of water, but didnâ€™t dare move. 

â€œPhlox got it wrong,â€ he said weakly. â€œI am the one whoâ€™s developing the nausea and high feverâ€¦â€

Malcolm bit his lip. â€œActually Phlox said those were the symptoms weâ€™d be experiencing as the virus progressed,â€ he said in a dark voice. 

â€œOh. Then I got it wrong.â€ 

Even that small reply left him breathless. He had no energy to speak. Great. It looked like Malcolm would have his silence after all. Trip blinked his eyes closed, and immediately his mind erupted in a firework of nightmarish and frightening sounds. Ironic. Someone must be punishing him for disturbing Malcolmâ€™s quiet.

Time passed; impossible to tell how much.

His breathing became laboured, his nausea unbearable, and anguish began to choke him. This was it. His brain found a brief moment of clarity to wonder if Malcolm was still with him there, on that bench across from him. But he couldnâ€™t bring himself to look. Before he knew it, he had plunged into that chaotic disharmony again.

More time went by, and not very pleasantly. 

When he next found a strand of semi-clear thinking it was to notice that the horribly deformed sounds had gotten louder. He wished he could do something to stifle them, or to clamp down on the terrible nausea: retch even, but get some relief from it. Moaning and thrashing seemed powerless to do anything against either of his torments. 

â€œâ€¦Working on it, Commanderâ€¦ Need some more timeâ€¦â€

Could that be Phlox? Trip couldnâ€™t tell; his perceptions were altered, and even this voice came to him as if through a filter that changed its traits. But it must be Phlox; Phlox saying they were working on a plan B. Then Malcolmâ€¦ Tears unexpectedly stung behind his eyes. It wasnâ€™t fair. And it should have been himâ€¦ himâ€¦ He was the rankingâ€¦ 

More words. Soft, barely audible, but blessedly continuous; invading his burning mind like a flowing stream of cool water. Something to hold his focus and distract him from the harrowing sensations. Keep goingâ€¦ please keep goingâ€¦

â€œâ€¦ ship needs her Chief Engineerâ€¦ Damn it, Tripâ€¦â€

The Captain; yeah, this was the Captain. The Captain wouldnâ€™t leave him alone, would sit by his side. The Captain, who could talk till dawn, never tiring, never running dry. Keep goinâ€™ Captâ€™n.

â€œâ€¦ well againâ€¦ planet, rich inâ€¦ away missionâ€¦ investigateâ€¦â€

The Captain! What did the man think he was doing? Heâ€™d get infected as well! Trip wanted to warn him, open his eyes, but only managed a grunt. He was so damn out of it.

â€œEasyâ€¦ not aloneâ€¦ stillâ€¦â€

An EV suit. He must be wearing an EV suit. Phlox would have never let him in without one.

â€œâ€¦ strongâ€¦ can do itâ€¦ need youâ€¦â€

The Captain needed him. Needed him, damn it. Heâ€™d already lost his Armoury Officer. But what could he do, other than wait for his fate?

Drifting farther and closer along with Tripâ€™s level of consciousness, the Captainâ€™s voice never faltered, providing its continuous and droning comfort. Every time Trip lost hope of staying afloat, it threw him a lifeline and heâ€™d grab it. A few times Trip lost it briefly, but it was always there when he recovered enough lucidity.

â€œâ€¦ movie nightâ€¦ promiseâ€¦ Ahâ€¦â€

The voice suddenly stopped, leaving a scary void that was immediately preyed upon by those hellish sounds. But then it was back.

â€œâ€¦ hyposprayâ€¦ donâ€™t moveâ€¦â€

There was a cold object against his neck, and a hissing sound. 

â€œâ€¦ betterâ€¦ lie stillâ€¦ not longâ€¦ Phlox saysâ€¦ hold onâ€¦â€

Yes, heâ€™d hold on, with his teeth and nails. Donâ€™t stop, please Captâ€™n, keep goinâ€™. He dreaded those terrifying howls so unlike anything heâ€™d ever heard, which threatened to drive him over the edge. 

But the Captainâ€™s warm voice was still there, not far from his ear, his tone low and deformed but intense, emotion near the surface. The surface was there, Trip could see it in his mindâ€™s eye. Heâ€™d reach it sooner or later.

â€œâ€¦ warp engineâ€¦ expert touchâ€¦ weâ€™ve come to relyâ€¦ Hessâ€¦â€

Tripâ€™s breathing was a little easier; his nausea a touch better. He willed his eyes open, but once again they didnâ€™t respond. The sounds were now a discordant confusion slowly dying away, like an orchestra quietening for the conductorâ€™s entrance. Not the Captainâ€™s voice, though. It was still going, a bit hoarser, not much louder than an urgent whisper. Trip could not make out any of the words now, for sleep was summoning him and he was unavoidably slipping into it, into a blessedly peaceful unconsciousness. 

With an act of sheer willpower, before abandoning himself to the much-coveted rest, he managed to mumble â€˜thanks, Captâ€™nâ€™; he thought he heard a quiet â€˜donâ€™t mention it, Commanderâ€™ in reply.

Â§ 4 Â§

Trip awoke slowly, feeling comfortably warm and relaxed. He stretched lazily under the blanket and for a moment didnâ€™t know where he was. But as soon as he opened his eyes his surroundings brought the memories back with shocking speed. He jerked his head up and before he could stop himself had turned to the side. The sight of other bench empty caused a lump to form in his throat. 

â€œHow are you feeling, Mister Tucker?â€ 

Jerking back to the words, he saw Phlox coming through the door with Archer. Their faces were tired and lined, but a small smile was on both of them, painfully at odds with Tripâ€™s mournful heart.

â€œIâ€™mâ€¦â€ Fine, he was going to say. But the word, in his mind, had a familiar if distinct accent, and stuck in his throat. He ended up murmuring, â€œStill alive.â€ 

Phlox had reached his side and was passing a medical scanner slowly over him. â€œI should think so,â€ he commented softly, studying the readings. Shifting his blue gaze to Tripâ€™s eyes, he explained, â€œYour fever broke about eight hours ago, a couple of hours after you had fallen into a comfortable asleep. I took a blood sample not long ago and youâ€™ll be glad to know that there is no more trace of the virus. You will still feel a little tired, but I can assure you, youâ€™re as good as new.â€ He turned to Archer, who hadnâ€™t said a word yet. â€œA day of rest and youâ€™ll have your Chief Engineer back, Captain. Iâ€™d say the Commander can go back on light duty tomorrow.â€ 

â€œThank you, Doc,â€ Archer said wearily. 

â€œVery well.â€ Phlox pocketed his instrument. â€œIâ€™ve got to get back to Crewman Spencerâ€™s sprained ankle. If youâ€™ll excuse meâ€¦â€ With that and a small nod he left. 

Trip had thrown the blanket aside and pushed to a sitting position, grateful that his balance was restored. Archer plopped down beside him. 

â€œYou gave us one hell of a scare,â€ he croaked out. Grimacing, he shook his head and added softly, â€œThis time I really thought you wouldnâ€™t make it.â€

â€œMalcolmâ€¦â€ Trip breathed out, closing his eyes against the memory of his friend raising a hypospray to his neck.

Archer heaved a deep breath. â€œHe didnâ€™t suffer, thankfully. I am grateful for what he did.â€

Trip felt a hand on his shoulder.

â€œNot that you wouldnâ€™t have done the same for him. It was Phloxâ€™s choice.â€

Biting his lip, Trip nodded. He waited a moment, until the painful knot in his throat had somewhat loosened, before saying quietly, â€œCaptâ€™n, I wanna thank you for beinâ€™ there for me. I wouldnâ€™t have made it without you.â€

There was a pause. 

â€œI did nothing, Trip,â€ Archer replied dismissively. 

â€œSeriously, Captâ€™n,â€ Trip insisted, turning his gaze to the compassionate green eyes of his Commanding Officer, â€œYou donâ€™t know how much you helped. I was hearinâ€™ some pretty horrible sounds. Your voice kept me focused and fightinâ€™, kept me anchored.â€ Unable to keep a slight quiver from his voice, he added, â€œIf there had been silence I think Iâ€™d have caved in and died too.â€

There was another pause; this one longer. 

â€œTrip, what are you talking about?â€ Archer finally enquired, in a puzzled voice. Suddenly he turned to the empty bench across from them, then back, wide-eyed. â€œOh, hellâ€¦ Trip, you donâ€™t you mean to tell me that you thinkâ€¦â€ He grabbed him by the arm. â€œMalcolm didnâ€™t die. Heâ€™s alive and well.â€ 

The words bounced around in Tripâ€™s brain for a moment; he blinked, afraid this might be a dream. But Archer was still there, and his face was softening into a warm smile. 

â€œAlive?â€ he blurted out, his voice thin with disbelief and hope.

â€œYeah. The Doc ordered him to his quarters. But I came by a couple of times and saw him: he was by your side almost throughout. And if you heard anyone talk that mustâ€™ve been him. No one else was allowed in here till Phlox came to take your blood sample, just recently.â€ 

Trip let himself fall back against the wall. â€œYouâ€™ve got to be kiddinâ€™,â€ he breathed out. â€œThen the treatmentâ€¦ the violent reactionâ€¦?â€

â€œThere was none, he was fine; something about his allergy shots immunising him against the counter effects.â€ Archer smirked. â€œYou were the one who got really sick. Phlox wasnâ€™t sure heâ€™d develop the vaccine in time. Thank God he did.â€

Â§Â§Â§

Trip had been ordered to his quarters, but there was no way he would lock himself in his room without a small detour first. After all - he figured - as long as he was in some quarters and not in Engineering it wouldnâ€™t matter whose they were. 

Malcolm opened the door bleary-eyed and out of uniform. He squinted against the brighter light in the corridor and took a moment to react.

â€œTripâ€¦â€ he finally rasped. â€œYou ok? Phlox let you out?â€ 

The voice was definitely that of someone who had been dragged out of bed, but Trip was too happy to be worried about - or even sorry for - having woken his friend up. As he nodded, it struck him that maybe also something else made Malcolm sound as if he had swallowed a grater: the man had probably never talked so much in one go in his entire life. He couldnâ€™t help breaking into a smile.

â€œMind if I come in a minute?â€ he asked, letting the happiness and relief, and a hint of amusement dance in his eyes. 

Malcolm gave him a tilt of his tousled head and a questioning frown. Then his mouth curved up slightly too. â€œA minute? I believe I can grant you that, Commander,â€ he said, recovering his poise and stepping aside. 

As he walked in, Trip raised his eyebrows at the teasing in the tone and the grey eyes. Well, teasing it was then. â€œDid you enjoy your little hero stunt?â€ he asked, injecting the words with just enough sarcasm that it would be detected and resented. â€œYou mustâ€™ve got that shot of adrenaline you like so much.â€ He felt the man behind him stiffen. 

â€œTrip, listen, I only did what the Doctor told me,â€ Malcolm countered, in a voice that had suddenly acquired a tighter, defensive edge.

It was a naughty long moment before Trip turned to face him. â€œIâ€™ve come to thank you,â€ he said, mellowing. He took secret pleasure in watching the other man falter at the unexpected change. 

But Malcolm quickly regrouped, quietly replying, â€œNo need. Youâ€™d have done the same. Besides, in the end I was fine.â€

â€œYeah,â€ Trip agreed. â€œBut thatâ€™s not what Iâ€™ve come to thank you for.â€ 

Malcolm blinked, once again taken off balance. His smart little brain, though, figured things out pretty quickly. 

Shrugging, he muttered, â€œYou were sick.â€ From the door, where he had remained, he took a few steps towards the centre of the room. â€œIt was a small favour. Not a problem.â€

The grey eyes tried to shift away, but Trip captured them. â€œKnowing how much you like talking, it wasnâ€™t such a small favour,â€ he said. â€œNot that I remember much of what you told me, but your voice kept me afloat, as well as some rather hair-raising sounds at bay.â€

â€œHallucinations?â€ 

â€œSort of, yeah. Not much fun, believe me.â€

Trip bit his lip, acknowledging a feeling of discomfort that was all the more annoying in that it was quite alien to his nature. Maybe the fact that his energy was suddenly waning had something to do with it. The sheer joy of being alive and the relief that neither of them had lost their lives had kind of given him a false feeling of omnipotence, and now that it was passing he was beginning to feel sort of limp. But in fact, along with Phloxâ€™s predicted tiredness he was getting a few more memories of their stay in decon, and they were troublesome in more than one way. He cringed as he remembered some of the things he had said and done. First he had forced his need to talk on Malcolm; then he had antagonised him, bothered by the manâ€™s possibly reckless nature; and in the end he had showed him his fear, his weakness. 

A clearing of the throat caught his attention, and he looked up to see Malcolm gesturing to his desk chair. 

â€œWhy donâ€™t you sit down, Commander?â€ Malcolm suggested with a touch of concern.

Trip realised he must look the way he felt and grimaced. â€œThereâ€™s no Commander, here, Malcolm, just another human being.â€ With all his flaws, he thought, but couldnâ€™t bring himself to say it. â€œBut no, thanks,â€ he added, addressing the invitation. â€œIâ€™d better go to my quarters. Iâ€™ve been ordered to rest. Iâ€™ll let you get back to sleep.â€ It was a half-assed excuse, he knew it; ironically, he was slithering out of a situation where he would have to talk; he wanted to be surrounded in silence. Rest right now sounded like a good idea; anyway, better than when Phlox had ordered it.

Something close to regret flitted across Malcolmâ€™s features. It was intriguing, but gone in an instant. 

They walked to the door. Malcolm lifted his hand to the button, and it hovered there for a moment before falling back to his side. His brow creased slightly. â€œI apologise for the way I reacted in decon; you know, virtually telling you to shut up,â€ he said without hesitation but not meeting Tripâ€™s eyes. â€œIn the end a bit of talking wasnâ€™t such a bad thing. I suppose there are times when itâ€™s better to fill the silence and not heed oneâ€™s thoughts.â€ 

What â€“ had this close call made them come to see each otherâ€™s point? Trip smiled inwardly. â€œWords are the physicians of a mind diseased,â€ he suddenly found himself quoting, surprised himself that he should remember, out of the blue, something he had read in school. 

Malcolm darted him a curious look. â€œAeschylus, if I recall,â€ he said, sounding impressed. His facial muscles tightened briefly. â€œIf truth be told, after it was clear how serious our situation was, talking probably helped me as much as it helped you.â€ 

And what kind of a confession was that? Trip studied the rigid man beside him. â€œAre you sayinâ€™ that you were scared too?â€ he asked outright, too intrigued to play safe.

There was a pause. 

â€œAs hell,â€ Malcolm replied tautly, still studiously avoiding his gaze. 

â€œYou did a good job of hidinâ€™ it,â€ Trip huffed out. The other man suddenly turned to him with a direct gaze that was surprising, even if typical of his unpredictability, of his ability to turn, in an instant, from totally reserved to thoroughly transparent. What Trip read on his face right now was innocent matter-of-factness.

â€œI had to,â€ Malcolm said. â€œI have to, in my profession.â€ 

Trip pinned him with a narrowed-eyes glance. â€œBut you did more than hide your fear. You jumped at the opportunity to place yourself in danger: was it courage or something else?â€ He knew Malcolm would understand what he meant by that. He might not welcome the question, but Trip wanted to ask it. Indeed his friend crossed his arms over his chest, and his face became quite stern.

â€œTrip, forget what I said about the storms, and the fascination of danger,â€ he said. â€œI simply did what I thought was my duty. Nothing less, nothing more. You may call it courage, if you will; although I donâ€™t much like the word - it implies an aura of heroism Iâ€™m not comfortable with when referred to my person. Iâ€™m no different from you; and in fact you were as willing as I was to volunteer as Phloxâ€™s guinea pig.â€

â€œI was willing; you were eager,â€ Trip countered, not convinced. â€œThereâ€™s a difference.â€

Malcolm took in a long-suffering breath and puffed it out. â€œLook,â€ he went on, â€œI simply know when itâ€™s time to break free from fearâ€™s grip, get into action and take the bull by the horns, to use an expression you would use. And I do so with determination. Thatâ€™s all.â€

â€œI call that courage,â€ Trip said. â€œReckless courage.â€

Malcolm shrugged. â€œI call it doing my job.â€

They looked at each other, Trip boring into the straight face before him, trying to understand if Malcolmâ€™s answer had been truthful; Malcolm undauntedly sustaining the scrutiny.

â€œHave I passed the exam?â€ Malcolm finally asked, with a witty lift of his eyebrows.

Trip smiled. â€œFor the moment, Lieutenant. But know that Iâ€™ll keep an eye on ya.â€ 

â€œAye, aye, Sir.â€ 

Standing at attention in shorts and T-shirt, Malcolm hardly gave the picture of the perfect officer. Trip couldnâ€™t help chuckling.

â€œYouâ€™d better get that rest, Commander, before you incur Phloxâ€™s ire,â€ Malcolm muttered. For the second time he lifted his hand to the button and this time made the door open. 

Trip stepped outside. He turned to say goodnight. â€œIf you admit that talking isnâ€™t all that badâ€¦ does it mean Iâ€™m welcome to come by for a little conversation once in a while?â€

â€œIf you really have to...â€

â€œIf I carried a bottle of somethinâ€™?â€

Malcolm jerked his head sideways, humour sparking in his grey gaze. â€œIt would depend on what was in that bottle, I suppose.â€

â€œLeave that to me, Lieutenant,â€ Trip said starting to take a few backward steps in the direction of his quarters. Stopping, he added, with a shrug, â€œDoesnâ€™t mean we canâ€™t also spend some time in silence.â€

â€œMe, you and a bottle?â€ Malcolmâ€™s smile even bared a few teeth. â€œNot a chance, Commander.â€


End file.
